


Merry Christmas, Levi

by StopLookingHere



Series: Fifty Two Levihan Fanfictions in Fifty Two Weeks [23]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gender-Neutral Hange Zoë, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Smut, Winter, haha - Freeform, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 23:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7127795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopLookingHere/pseuds/StopLookingHere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>23/52: a birthday</p><p>It's his birthday, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Levi

**Author's Note:**

> more gender neutral hanjo! woO! also might challenge myself to do a part two of this, if I can work it out in my head

Levi Ackerman woke up to his partner staring at him, their dark-fringed eyes heavy with sleep, the brown color under them barely visible. Behind them the usually present faint glow of the nightly candle sat extinguished. They had slept in, either by choice or by accident yet neither mattered, for they were both somehow still in bed at a time where they definitely should have been in bed. Regardless, he pushed the thoughts of the time back to stare back at her.

His partner had an almost ethereal quality about them, especially with the way the weak early morning sun shines on their unbound hair. It’s almost curly at the ends when it’s down, spilling across the pillows and their bare torso in a gingerbread wave. Their skin, a shade or two darker than his and tanned in the places where their uniform didn’t cover, was marred by the scars of yesterday. He’d cleaned almost every one of those injuries, overseeing their transformation. He’d traced them dozens of times when he gave them massages to ease the knots in their back that the maneuver gear and their choice of undergarments caused.

“Happy Birthday,” they breathe peppermint, because they know he hates the smell of morning breath when they wake up first. And of course, they _would_ remember, first thing as they woke up, what day it was. They didn’t usually remember the day, but rather chose to lose count as their research let them unless it was a day they deemed important, which of course, they immediately remembered upon waking. In many ways, his partner was still quite childlike, but that was one of the parts of them that he loved.  

“Merry Christmas,” he replies to his partner. They grin lazily, propping themselves up on their elbow.

“I didn’t think you would remember that,” they reply. “Usually you start to waver at about the hour mark.”

“Tis my birthday,” he reminds them. The statement speaks for itself. It’s not a particularly important day to him, to be honest. He’s the child of a whore, raised by a man unfit to be his father, to live better than them both. Despite that, he keeps trying to find reasons to make the day anything other than average, especially after Hange insists that it’s a special day.

They scoot over in bed, pressing their forehead against his. He protests, albeit feebly, for their mouth has already met his and he can’t exactly protest his awful breath when they’re kissing. Their nude body feels like silk next to his, with skin against skin and lips against lips. He twines his leg between theirs, suddenly desperate to be closer.

“I love you,” they whisper between kisses, when he’s turned them down on their back so that they don’t have to constantly prop themselves up and wear their arm out. He stops for a moment, staring at the person below him. Their lower halves are kind of sweating under the heavy winter bedding that they slept under but it’s much too cold for them to rip the covers off entirely, so they’re relying on the heat of each other’s torso to stay warm. He’s not really a human space heater and neither is his partner, so underneath him sit two brown buds standing at attention.

He meets their eye and tells him that he loves them back before moving his kisses down their neck, earning a slight moan from the body underneath his. His breath is hot against their ear, where he kisses behind, making them squirm. He decorates their collarbones with kisses before burying his face in their chest, taking one soft brown bud in his mouth at a time. They sit like this for a little while, him half trying, him half just enjoying their presence.

“I love you,” they repeat, shifting under him. “It’s your birthday. Not mine.”

Something stirs in him, something that’s been quietly there but easy to ignore up until this point. His partner snakes a hand down his body and down to his length, making him draw in a sharp breath. He immediately understands their idea, switching positions with them clumsily. They laugh a little at him, leaving bed for a moment to grab their robes, which he awkwardly pulls on while trying to remain within the warmth of the bed.

It doesn’t matter how many times he’s with them. They almost always change it up for him, in one way or another. And even if they don’t, he somehow never gets tired of them. He supposes it’s part of the love bit. It’s hard not to love Hange, even for all their flaws and eccentrics.

They don’t start immediately on him. They’d rather run their fingers up and down his chest, or barely drag their nails on his thighs, making him groan loudly. He’s rock hard by the time they do anything close to his cock, and when they reach the base of his length, a hissed “fuck” passes through his lips. They love that, hearing him vocalize. Their lips are somehow ten times more soft when they graze the head of his cock, the fluid at the tip painting their lips like gloss. He nearly gives in when they take him into their mouth, working their hand and throat to accommodate him.

Hange moans around his cock, sending heat pooling into his abdomen. He knows that they won’t swallow, for they can’t stand the taste and don’t care to choke, but if they continue like this he might just fail to warn them. Their moans send gentle vibrations throughout his length, sending him tilting his head back and groaning loudly. He can just faintly see their other hand snaking down between their own legs, working to get them off as well.

“Hange,” he gasps, his breathing ragged as he feels the muscles in his lower body contract. They don’t need a second warning, taking him out of their mouth just in time for him to paint his and their chests with hot, sticky fluid.

“Happy Birthday Levi,” Hange tells him, laying down next to him. Their skin is lightly flushed, their hand still between their legs, playing idly. He notices this, and instead of replying, he merely scoops his taller counterpart up in his arms. They stare up at him, laughing a little. “To the shower then, I suppose?”

He carries them to the shower, taking a moment to brush his teeth (finally!) before kissing them deeply. His voice is rough when he gives a rare smirk. “Hange Zoe, my birthday’s not over yet.”


End file.
